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The Four Fluffy Seasons

Summer, part 3

“Dummeh mawe” mumbled Chester one bright morning. “It not Chestaw’s fauwt he nu can giv betta speshuw huggies. . . Chestah tu big an aw . . . aw mawe hab to du is waise bak mow!” he grumbled.

His partner had been on his case more and more lately, in spite of his spaghetti trips, due to his massive girth. Flower’s foals were nearly fully-grown and it was never too soon to have another litter. Yet both fluffies had grown tremendously in size and consumation was . . . Difficult to say the least. After a whole night’s worth of efforts, Chester decided to go for a walk and instead focus on his plan to save the herd.

The herd’s long presence in the park had left a noticeable impact on the surrounding vegetation that was not unnoticed by its human visitors. piles of fluffy shit covered large swathes of grass and cement as the numerous new-born foals and their older siblings made little-to-no effort to use the proper poopie-places set out by their parents. The older generation of fluffies didn’t care. From their perspective, the park was a garden of Eden with endless food, so why bother teaching proper ettiquete to the unruly foals, colts, and fillies? Surely there was plenty of food for generations to come! Yet the plants themselves were under a constant siege with nearly every berry bush stripped bare, trash-cans were consistently toppled over by teams of stallions, and the various local wild-flower populations were decimated. It would not be long before the complaints would make their way through the various anti-fluffy bureaucracies and the inevitable visit by an exterminator.

Chester of course couldn’t give a fuck lacked the intellect to notice all but one of these issues: the good, non-spaghetti nummies were in short supply. Already, fights were beginning to break out every now and then as stallions bickered over the small remaining patches of dandelions that remained. Even worse, the herd’s smarty had decreed that the remaining “bestest nummies” should go only to him and his cadre since they had led the herd to the park in the first place and guarded them. Chester knew better than to challenge the smarty for power since many stallions had become toughies in hopes that the work would enable them to get in on the better food stores for their mates. And, deep down, Chester knew he had no chance in a fight with a stronger, fitter stallion. But as the days went on and some fields of grass were reduced to dirt and nubs, Chester knew he had to act. Thus, with a newfound sense of urgency, Chester left to start his crusade and lead his herd to Skettiland glory.

“Babbehs. . . . Babbehs aw da most impowtant ting in da wowd. Dey desewve da bestest nummies fiwst!” thought Chester while sprawled out on some grass after his long (read: 10 minutes) walk.

He looked over to his left at four litter-mates bounding around some twigs, pretending they were monsters attacking the herd.

“tak dat, tak dat scawy munstah!” screamed a powder-blue colt as he beat his marshmellow fluffs into a twig.

It bent slightly.

“nuuuuu, nu wan pway munstah game bwudda, tu scawy huuu huuu” wept a smaller pink colt while it pissed itself in fear.

“shhh, shh wittwe bwudda it otay, huggies mak scawies gu away” cooed an older orange filly who embraced the pink colt in a big hug. The second youngest, a green filly, wobbled over on unsteady legs to join the hugpile.

Chester looked on intently. The foals were clearly “good babbehs” he thought. They cared for each other, and they were brave and would be such good play-mates for the other foals in Skettiland. They would be the lucky first to go. He rose, huffing at the effort of raising his large body, and waddled to the fluffpile.

*grunt* “hewwo wittwe babbehs.” . . .*huff* . . . “Am Chestah.” *pant* “Wan bestest nummies in da wowd? I hab a *huff* speshew pwace dat I can tak yu tu”

The powder-blue colt and pink colt both looked up from the fluffpile with huge smiles plastered on their faces.

“Bestest nummies?! In da wowd?! Wan nummies, wan nummies!” they began to chatter excitedly.

The orange filly looked up and down at Chester slowly, unsure of what to make of the strange fluffy. He was enormous. His fluff had a bright sheen and was glossy from a rich diet. It glistened brightly in the sun from his sweat. He had small, beady eyes beneath a fat brow and his muzzle was an emormous lump covered grotesquely on each side by enormous jowls. His actual cheeks were stained a mottled brown-red from the countless spaghetti meals Chester had indulged in from the previous weeks. His belly looked like that of a dam's and hung low against the grass. And his legs were enormous, a mixture of fat and the badly strained muscle needed to move it.

She shuddered softly, her primative fluffy instincts screaming “NU” at his offer while she dipped her head towards her litter-mates: “shh bwudda, dis am bad, meanie fwuffy. Nu hab speshew nummies.”

The foals quieted down and didn’t move, now afraid at the large fluffy before them. Chester cocked his head, unsure of what the orange filly said, but was now concerned. The last thing he needed was the herd to be alerted and face the aggressive smarty and his toughies. He opened his large mouth and paused to suck in some air before repeating his offer.

The small pink colt, terrified at what her sister had said and the enormous mouth in front of her began to make scared alarm peeps.

*Chirp* . . . *CHIRP* . . . *Chirp* . . . *CHIRP* . . .*chirp* . . . “scawy” . . . *peep* . . . “No huwt fwuffy!” . . .

Chester’s eyes grew big. These fluffies were going to ruin the plan! Thinking quickly, he lunged forward, bringing his mouth down on the green foal’s head and wrapping his teeth around its neck. He felt the fragile foal’s windpipe as it began to squirm in panic while its litter-mates looked on in horror. Its alarm chirps rose in pitch but were muffled by Chester’s mouth.


Not wanting to kill the foal, Chester gingerly added pressure to the foal’s neck, right on its windpipe. The foal’s body began to wiggle with greater intensity as it struggled for air. Not wanting to kill the foal, just save it from it’s inevitable doom in the park, Chester let go.

The foal fell with a plop back onto the grass, wet with phlegm and spit, and opened its mouth to scream.


A little trickle of blood began to drip down its tiny chin as it howled in mute pain.

Chester looked on, distraught at the foal’s pain, but determined to bring it to skettiland.

“it otay . . . it otay . . . Babbeh dunt undastand. Skettiwand hewp babbeh get boicie bak” he thought uneasily. He noticed the powder-blue colt approach him, snort, and scratch the dirt, ready to save its siblings. Even worse, its siblings had begun to make scaredy chirps as they looked on in terror at the pink colt's agony as it tried, miserably, to crawl out of the wad of spittle it was stuck in.


Chester lifted his large body and brought it down with a crash on the three foals in an effort to quickly silence them.


The terrified foals all squirmed beneath the countless rolls of Chester’s flabby body, desperate to escape, desperate to breath. Chester lifted his flabby chest slightly, revealing the powder-blue colt again, its legs protruding grotesquely in different directions. It gasped for air as Chester quickly brought his great maw of a mouth down again, this time attacking from the side in an effort to just pinch the fluffy’s larynx.


The Colt’s eyes bulged and darted around in hope that some fluffy, any fluffy had noticed the scene. None had.

Chester withdrew his teeth and the colt began to cough. He opened his mouth again in anticipation but the damage had been done.

”WORSTEST OWWWWWIIIEEESSS. MUMMMMAAAAHHHH” screamed the colt in a barely audible whisper. It collapsed in a heap, its face frozen in a permanent scream.

The two remaining foals had begun to squirm more and more lethargically as they asphyxiated beneath his fat body. Chester rose and turned to them, tears trickling down his fat face as he looked on at their pain.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard!

The orange filly’s back legs would not move and several of its ribs were sticking out of its tiny belly. The pain from the broken ribcage made breathing an agony for the filly that nearly overwhelmed its tiny body as its chest rose in ragged, shallow breaths. It could not scream and instead sucked its hoof intensely as tears poured down its face.

The green filly had miracuously survived with few injuries except for some heavy bruising. It cowered in fear before the destruction of its litter-mates and covered its eyes with its hoofs.

The babble of several fluffies in the distance drew Chester’s attention and he looked up, scared that a stallion was barreling towards him, not understanding that these foals were being saved, not molested. Instead, several dams and their attendants were waddling slowly towards the shade of a nearby tree.

Chester sighed heavily in relief but knew he still had to act fast. Thankfully, the foals did not resist as he raised them by their bloody back-fluff onto his back. His eyes found the brick building and he trotted to it as quickly as possible. He reached the secluded machine and laid down, shaking his back rolls to let the trapped foals out near the spaghetti dispenser. They fell down in a heap, gasping for air.

All four, looked up at Chester in fear, unable to speak or peep.

“Yu hab been vewy bad fwuffies,” Chester wheezed. “If odda fwuffies find out and teww da smawty, he wud kiww Chestaw and tak aw da sketties fow himsewf!!!!”

The foals continued to look on in fear but the mention of “sketties” had calmed them slightly.

Chester, tired of waiting, waddled to the two colts and picked them up by their backfluff and deposited them unceremoniously onto the platform where they looked around in a daze, still gasping for air while nursing their wounds.

A red light flickered on and wavered back and forth across the two foals as a robotic fluffy voice squeaked out “YU AM SUCH GUD BABBEHS. YU GU TO DA WONDUFUWL WOWD OF SKETTILAND”.

In a flash, both foals were gone. The two fillies looked on in shock, gazing up towards the sky where the voice had floated down, the open box, and the small pile of spaghetti forming right in front of them.

“Nao” Chester said, grinning to himself as he looked at the fillies and the nearby spaghetti. “Chestaw wowked su hawd to sab yu. It was suuuuu hawd to get yu hewe and yu kno da wiwsks! An fow su many fowebaws Chestaw’s speshuw wumps hab huwties. . . Need hewpies.”

The two fillies looked at each other, the pile of spaghetti, then back at Chester uncertainly.

“Need huggies??” panted out the orange filly, in between groans from its broken ribs.

“Need speshuw huggies” replied Chester with a grin. “Yu nu need tu wowwy, Skettiwand takes away awwww da huwties in da wowd and gibs wots and wots of sketti foweva and evah. Suuuuu . . . Yu *Chester lifted a heavy hoof and pointed at the orange filly* giv speshuw huggies, then get tu eat dose sketties with yu sistah, den gu to skettiwand.”

Before the orange filly could protest, Chester approached the orange filly and spun it around, raised its body with his left hoof towards his “no-no stick, and penetrated.”


“IT BEN SU WONG” he thought in escatcy. His partner, Flower, was too big now to give him “special-huggies.” But the foals . . . The foals were small enough to fit in between his fat rolls. And since Skettiland healed all the “hurties” and the “owies” the foals encountered on the way, why not use them to relieve the pressure in his special lumps. It was a win-win!

The orange filly could barely protest and instead wept softly as its green filly sister tottered over to the spaghetti and began to suck on the red strands happily. With a sigh of happiness, Chester lowered her onto the pavement. She curled up into a ball as best she could, her useless legs flopped across the pavement, and sobbed. Blood gushed from the puncture wounds around her potruding ribs and from her “special-place.”

"HU HU HU HU HU" . . . "SPESHUW PWACE HAB WOWSTED HURTIES . . . NEED HUGGIES . . . NEED MUMMAH!" She cirped out pitifully.

"Der, der, siwwy fiwwy. Yu get tu gu to Skettiwand, wemembew?? Chester replied, panting heavily from the exertion.

The green filly, totally immersed in her first taste of the wonderous “bestest nummies” before her, hadn’t noticed a thing except that her dummy sister was crying while this amazing, enormous fluffy named Chester had given her the best tasting food she had ever eaten in her entire life.

“Wat a fiwfy job” he mumbled as he looked on at the bloody pavement from the foal’s wounds and the droplets of Chester’s spunk.

“Cud be wowse” peeped back the green filly, totally unphased and eager to go to Skettiland.

“Hao? replied Chester,as he walked back to the two foals.

“Cud be waiwning” replied the green filly.

Rain began to pour down heavily on the park, eliciting a cacaphony of screeches of “WAWA BAD FO FWUFFIES,” “FUCK, LET’S GET OUT OF THE RAIN FRAU BLÜCHER,” and the distant *neighing* of horses.

Chester was unamused. He carefully picked up both filies and placed them on the platform with a groan. The orange filly continued to huu huuu softly as it tried to hug its special place without disturbing its broken ribs while the green filly pranced around excited to go to Skettiland.

Chester left the pair and returned to the spaghetti-drop area while the machine did its work and after a small pause, both fillies were gone and a pile of red-and-white spaghetti had begun to drip down. Chester ate ravenously, tired from exerting himself, but satisfied that he had delivered the foals to Skettiland. The plan was dangerous, and he would have to take more precautions in the future, but it would work!

“Dese sketties taste . . . diffewent.” He said outloud to no-fluff in particular. Still, nummies were nummies and Chester ate the pile whole with a burp.

He was a very good fluffy.


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WheresMcgonagall: The Chester tales continue as Chester's mind and desire to save the herd have unintended consequences for those being saved! Tune in next time to discover: how the hell Chester is going to get the other fluffies to skettiland?! How will Chester's weight affect his plans?! Can Chester get any more stupid at this point?!?!

All good things must come to an end and that includes this saga. If all goes to plan, Summer should be wrapped up within 1-2 more posts and we'll be on to autumn and winter.
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Anonymous1: That foals for sketti must have been in an horrible spot if only Chester is the only one to have found it.

That or the smarty also found it and is actually a little smarter and not gone full hog on it.
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Anonymous2: And then chester became the squishiest/softest most pleasant to touch enfie-nu-mare for the herd he took the foals from. How did the herd know about chester? You see a runt to scared to peep or chirp was hiding under some leaves and so how chester abducted them.

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FluffyPuncher: Are these laced with birth control or his semen?
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WheresMcgonagall: @Anonymous: For the most part, the herd hasn't had to do much in terms of getting food so only some have really explored and Chester was lucky enough to find the machine because of that other mare in the first place. If it helps paint the picture better, the brick building is on the edge of the park near the parking lot.

@FluffyPuncher: Semen.
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UACMarine: @WheresMcgonagall: So they just use cheap ramen noodles and half expired pasta and use the foals for meatballs? Efficient and a great way to get rid of expired food.
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OnceUponAFluffy: I really liked the descriptions of just how completely grotesque and bloated Chester is, it really makes him into this detestable monster who can only serve his most base desires. Can't wait for more of this story!
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Anonymous3: @UACMarine: There was no mention of meat balls, only "sauce" and "Noodles".
And seeing how he doesn't really describe them, I am going to guess that they are simply the fluffy cut up to look like them.

Still, why haven't they had a heart attack yet?
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Anonymous4: @Anonymous: I'm big on continuity in these stories so to answer your question, the "sketties" do have some "10-cent pasta" in them as brought up in the first story (scroll about halfway down). Truthfully it's a mix of both foals and spaghetti. 20-60%, cheap pasta, 40-80% fluffy. The reasoning being that if the fluffy is too small, then the "spaghetti" pile may not be large enough to bring back more fluffies.

Chester is fat as fuck and has been getting even larger with every story. It does not bode well for him.

@OnceUponAFluffy: Thank you! It's been fun to write and that part in particular was the most enjoyable section to create.
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OnceUponAFluffy: @Anonyomous: you've probably already got this all planned out, but I would love for Chester to die due to his gluttony, only to find out Skettiland actually *is* real... But his murderous violent actions get him sent to Fluffy hell instead. Extra tortuous because he doesn't even understand why he's a bad fluffy!
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Anonymous5: 10/10 my dick is rock hard.
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Anonymous6: I wonder why this is a big story and spring, just as important and perfect for fluffy enf stories , is a one off.
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Anonymous7: They taste different because enfie babbehs
Thread locked for the current user.